Virus
by Fizz the Great
Summary: A virus has broken out killing hundreds. Only 1 cure hidden in the depths of an abandoned island. But will Alex be able to find it before it's too late? Watch as Alex struggle between the lives of an agent and as Sherlock struggles with working with a 15 year-old. Needless, none of them know who is infected, and who is not. Will rewrite since this isn't my best story. :(
1. Chapter 1: Virus

It was quiet.

The halls, the rooms, the forum.

Silence.

He crept slowly along the wall, sweat trickling down his face. One extra move and he's out. His muscles tensed as he crouched there, body still.

He waited.

Then, he heard footsteps followed by voices. First, hushed whispered voices like little bugs, buzzing around. Then louder, and louder, until the voices rose to an argument. Fists slammed, chairs pushed, swear words bounced off the metal walls, echoing through the hallway. A single gunshot was fired. People quieted down.

Now, only one person was speaking. It was a soft voice, so soft and quiet, yet full of authority. He pushed his ear closer to the walls, straining to hear. Even the mic in his ear was silent. Nobody dared to breathe. Suddenly, static cracked through his mic, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Get out of Sherlock! They know you're here!" The voice boomed through his mic, rushed and panicky. They knew. They knew he was there all the long. A trap. And he fell in it. Oh, stupid him.

Sherlock tensed and whipped around to run. Instead, a large blunt object came rushing towards him and with a loud crack, the world began to slowly dim to black.

—

It was a typical peaceful day, probably the most normal day he ever had in years.

14 year old Alex Rider sat in the musty classroom, dust floating aimlessly around and the sign of laziness filled the air. Everything seemed to be stuck in slow motion, the teacher droning on and on about World War 1 and the students below taking sluggish notes, heads bent in boredom, resting on their hands.

Alex leaned back and rocked his chair slowly back and forth. So this is what its like, normal school, normal life.

"Now the League of Nations was created to prevent war by using negotiation…" the teacher droned as she wrote a few dates on the board. Sunlight flitted through the dusty glass with just the slightest sound of birds chirping in the summer afternoon.

"Hey, Alex, how are you hanging back there?" Tom whispered from his right.

Alex smiled, "Better than I expected."

The school bell rang, signaling the end of school.

Everybody shuffled out of the room, bags dragging and chairs squeaking as the day ended with a heavy atmosphere.

"Come on Alex!" Tom motioned Alex to his bike near a tree. Alex smiled and swung on his bike, feet resting on the old plastic pedals. Maybe ordinary life isn't so boring after all.

—

Sherlock woke up in a blank room, smoky colored walls, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling; men in suits stood beside him, people in the conference he was just spying on.

He tried to move his hands but they were tied. No, not tied, but chained. They were taking precautions. Interesting…

"Do you have any idea why you're here Mr. Harrison, or should I say, Mr. _Holmes_?" someone spoke in front of him, voice dripping with malice.

Sherlock raised his head in defiance and glared into the dark pits of the man in front of him. His voice sounded smooth and soft, yet with a hint of pleasure, pleasure in torture. Sherlock felt the corners of his lips tip into a smirk. Idiots.

"Yes," he simply replied. It was a yes no question, after all.

The man in front grinned too, as if they were sharing a secret little joke.

"Funny to have you here, thought they would send someone else," he drawled on, "of course, it's Mycroft. Who else?" he smiled showing perfect white teeth.

"Sorry to interrupt in that little plan of your's, _Jim._ " Sherlock snarled. "It's Jim, right? Or do you prefer to be called James?"

Jim threw back his head and laughed, "Oooooh, I like you Sherlock. We should've worked together from the beginning on the day we meet. Of course there was your brother, stopping you from everything you wanted to do. But me, there's no one to stop me, is there?" Jim grinned from ear to ear.

A woman entered from behind, carrying a dark box rested on both of her hands. She opened the box revealing six small injectors, both filled with clear liquid.

"I'm sure you know what this is, don't you Sherlock?" Jim said, picking up an injector. "This is what you came for, didn't you? The cure?"

Sherlock glanced at the injector then scoffed, "That's the virus. You think I can't tell between the cure and the virus?"

Jim smiled, "Very well." He then picked up another injector. This time, the injector had a small blue sticker on its side. "We have sent a message to your brother and your MI6 buddies to pay 2 million pounds for the return of their agent. They have to send the money to our account within…"he checked his watch, "24 hours. Or else…" Jim smiled and looked at Sherlock straight in the eye, "Or else you're _mine_."

Jim advanced to Sherlock, a smirk clearly visible on his lips. "24 hours Sherlock," he injected the liquid into Sherlock, earning a gasp of pain, "24 hours Sherlock, and you're mine."

Sherlock felt the burning liquid enter his body and he clenched his teeth as it began to spread. It felt like as if his whole shoulder was on fire, every vein in his neck about to burst.

"Sorry Sherlock," Jim sang in his sing-a-song voice, "but you were sooooo wrong about the cure."

And with that, Sherlock felt the world began to fall away from him as he sank deeper and deeper into the drug Moriarty gave him, the light slowly dimming from his sight as he fell into the dark abyss beneath him.

 _sorry Sherlock, but you were soooo wrong about the cure_

 _wrong_

 _the great Sherlock Holmes_

 _wrong_

 _then what_

 _what is it_

 _what did I miss_

 _something_

 _something very important_

 _but…_

 _it's just…._

 _I-_

…

 **Hey guys, Izzy here. Please review, I love reviews. And if you review, I might update faster. Or maybe…give you a sneak peek of what will happen in the next chapter.**

 **Muhahahahahaha.**

 **Shh, spoilers.**


	2. Chapter 2: Please

A few minutes later, Alex and Tom departed, both going their own ways back home. It was Friday and Jackie was cooking Japanese food today, again. She cooks Japanese food almost each Friday so it's quite normal except one day where the store ran out of salmon.

Jackie made Korean food after that. Fridays were also known as the Asian cuisine day. Jackie makes the best kimchi in the world.

Alex biked home, backpack weighed down with the math and history books he was given. High school was hard work as college came up and he had to catch up after all the work he missed. Of course, it wouldn't be a surprise if he ended up working for MI6 for his entire life.

Setting his bike down, he hitched his backpack and climbed the porch stairs. And lying the porch, was a clean white envelope. Alex cocked his head and picked the envelope slowly up. It wasn't a trap, no, it was a message. But from whom?

He tore the envelope open and unfolded it. Inside, there was a thin scrawl of words.

 _Alex, we need your help. You know where to find us. This is urgent._

Alex felt rebellion boil in him as he looked at the paper in disgust, the thin cursive writing and the rich white grain paper. He moved to the trash can, ready to throw the letter away, to end this all.

No, he wasn't going back. Not ever. Until something, caught his attention. There was more, a single word at the back of the letter.

 _Please._

MI6 never says sorry or please, don't even mention Blunt.

 _Please._

5 minutes later, Alex was on his bike again, riding to the place, that called for help.

—

He felt pain, a dull throbbing in his head and he tried to get comfortable. No, the pain was unbearable, like drums thumping, an iron rod banging on his head continuously. Sherlock shifted in agony, sweat beading his forehead.

Chained again.

No chance of escaping.

Don't even try.

He opened his eyes in weariness, his vision blurry and the surroundings all muffled as if someone placed a film in front of him. He blinked several times and tried to sit up. Just a bit of action sent sharp stabs of pain through his head, making him want to clutch his head in torment.

The pain slowly subsided and he brought his knees up and crouched there, hoping that there was someway, anyway, to get out of this situation. He was, after all, only 19 years old.


	3. Chapter 3: Rescue Mission, Or Not

When Alex reached MI6, he realized everything was in chaos. Agents ran around tapping on computers, delivering files, making phone calls. It looked like they were trying to save the world while a meteorite was just a few thousands miles from crashing into earth.

Mrs. Jones was the first to notice Alex. She saw him and raised her eyebrows as if she couldn't believe he came. But the expression quickly disappeared as it came and she ushered Alex into a room.

Alan Blunt sat there, but he looked like he just aged 10 years. His hair seemed grayer than usual, almost close to white and the crinkles around his face were as deep as ever.

He looked up and saw Alex. "You saw my message." He said after a moment.

"Yes, you needed help, looks like the world is ending right now." Alex smirked.

Blunt's face tightened. "Alex, you have no idea who we're dealing with now. He's a criminal mastermind, ever heard that term before?"

"Only in stories,"

"Well, he made this virus. Its like ebola but deadlier, killing much much faster and spreads much quicker. It starts from the brain, causing the host to have hallucinations. Soon, the systems in the body will start to slowly shut down, one by one. Then, starts the internally bleeding. The lungs will be filled by blood, suffocating the host. So far, it has killed around 23 thousand people around the world, but it hasn't reached Europe yet." Blunt sighed, "But the thing is, we don't have the cure. Actually nobody knows where the cure is even."

"Yeah so? If you know who's doing it, than go ask for it, there's that much agents out there doing nothing." Alex said sarcastically.

Blunt's expression darkened. "This man, James Moriarty, is very very clever. We can't just send our forces in and demand the cure. You see, there's another problem. He would suicide, by all means to protect the cure."

A suicidal. Now that's something different.

"What do you want me to do?"

"We do know they're on an island and we've spent one of our best agents there-"

"You always say that." Alex groaned.

Blunt hesitated, "Well, this agent is new, just joined, probably forced by his older brother."

He took out a thin file, "Not much about him but his name is Sherlock Holmes, age 19, skipped two grades and also incredibly intelligent. And our only agent who happened to know Moriarty. Problem is…he's caught and currently held hostage. We need you to get to the island and rescue him, also finding the cure."

"And the alternative?" Alex felt a lump rise up to his throat.

Blunt glanced at him then let out a slow breath, as if he didn't want to say it too. "The alternative is, if you can't rescue him, get the cure first and leave him there."

 **Please review guys! Do you know how excited I get everytime when I get reviews! I'm like, Oh My Gosh I gotta update! So yeah, reviews sometimes remind me of updating too. And thanks for those who reviewed and favorited, you people are awesome! Remember, reviewing means reminding me to update! See you guys in the next chapter, bye!**


	4. Chapter 4: Rescuer?

Alex paced around in the submarine, repeating the maze he has to wind around to get in. The island is a series of tunnels and pipes, winding across the depths of building, under, around, above. Only he can fit in the tunnel, Blunt had explained. Try not to get caught, stay in the tunnels at all times. As soon as he get's the cure, alert MI6. Immediately. Oh, and try not to get caught.

Alex sighed and stopped pacing, glancing at the captains up front. There were only two captains, who are going to supply him all the gears he need to get in from underwater. The submarine will leave immediately after that, leaving him alone. Alone as always.

The sub slowed to a stop and Alex got ready his swim gear. He nodded to the captains and the captains gave a curt nod at him. They all know the circumstances. Alex, might be their only hope to the cure. To save millions.

Alex took a deep breath. Let the game begin.

—

He tried to focus on one thing. Temperature in the room, 74 degrees, warm. Water tricking, leaking pipe near. Cell probably below ground…2 floors. No guards standing outside. Wait a minute. No guards…

Sherlock looked drowsily up, his head still swimming in pain. There was a clink and a jingle of keys. The door slowly creaked opened. His vision cleared as the shape in front began to take features. A boy, with blonde hair and brown eyes stood in front of him, still wearing a diving suit.

14 years old, almost 15, also agent but…not possible… Well, it's MI6, what do you expect.

No siblings, no parents, seen too much, probably was on missions since he was…11 years old. Has housekeeper, was probably forced here, just came from school, Bristish background, sent by Alan Blunt, came in submarine, obviously small, 2 captains, should've left by now…

"Hey, you're Sherlock Holmes…right?" The boy finally spoke up after the long moment of silence.

Sherlock glanced up in surprised, snapped from his thoughts, "Yes…are you are?"

"Alex Rider, I'm from MI-"

"Yes, I know. You're an agent from MI6, age 14, almost 15, sent by, I presume, Alan Blunt judging by the way you dress. Just got notificated right after…school am I right? Came in a small submarine, through one of the pipes, then into the vent. They choose you because you were the only one who can fit in, also you aren't a new agent, got in at early age, 11 years old? But it wasn't your father who got you in though he must have had some relationship between MI6, it was your relative, probably uncle? But he obviously died because of some event, murdered perhaps. That leaves you living with a housekeeper. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Alex stared, stunned at the stranger as if he grew horns. But the expression quickly fled as he put on a poker face, "So you're really that smart as Blunt described you as," he murmured.

Sherlock was surprised. Blunt said he was smart? Wow big change back there. So much for being smart when you're locked in a cellar by a psychopath. And having the need for a _15 year old_ recuse you. Gee, thanks Mycroft.

 **Hey guys, Izzy here. Please please please review! Every time when I get a review I drop my computer in happiness then jump in my mind palace and whack Sherlock in the head and go: GUESS WHAT HAPPENED TODAY SHERLOCK?! GUESS WHAT?**

 **Sorry, I'm a bit overreacting.**


	5. Chapter 5: Stranger

Alex thought going through the pipes would be much easier but it was harder than he thought. Squeezing through smelly pipes didn't make his day any brighter. And then meeting him. William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

He wasn't sure if it was his cellar or not but he looked like to be the only prisoner on this island. His curly dark hair fell over his eyes when he looked up and his skin was pale as a ghost. His entire figure looked like a black and white contrast picture.

He wasn't hurt, as far as Alex can tell, so they should be able to escape easily. Unless, one of them gets hurt on the way. Alex rubbed his temples, wondering why did he get himself into this mess. All this seemed horribly wrong, horribly off the line.

Sherlock, seemed to look at him as if he was scanning him, analyzing every single detail. Alex shifted nervously from foot to foot as the man, no, teenager glared at him with piercing blue-gray eyes.

There was a long silence. "Hey, you're Sherlock Holmes…right?" Alex finally spoke up.

The darker-haired boy looked up, "Yes…are you are?"

"Alex Rider, from MI-" He began but was soon interrupted.

"Yes, I know." Then came the rapid response of information. Information about him.

"How…" He was about to say but quickly stopped himself. Blunt had warned him about this. Extremely intelligent. And extremely arrogant.

"So you're really that smart as Blunt described you as," He ended up saying. A mask of disbelief crossed Sherlock's face but quickly disappeared into his usual neutral look.

Alex quickly spoke up, "Can you stand up?"

Sherlock glared at him as if he said something wrong. He then showed Alex his wrists. They were chained. "You have the key?" He casually asked.

Alex fished out a key-shaped item from one of his pockets then stuck the small iron rod in. The key quickly took form of the key hole and in seconds, there was a click and the cuff fell from Sherlock's wrist. He repeated the method to the other one. Sherlock rubbed his wrist, the skin around them still red and raw. He made no move of thanking him.

"Try standing up," Alex prompted, ignoring Sherlock's rudeness.

Sherlock pushed himself up but he staggered, his hand pressed tightly to his head. "Sherlock, you okay? Sherlock, listen to me! Sherlock! Sherlock, come on, reply…Sherlock…"

—

The boy, or Alex, told him to get up. He did. And failed. He felt like an idiot. An absolute idiot, struggling to keep balance on his feet.

Pain shoot up his head, making his eyes water. The entire cell-room swam around him, Alex's face coming out distorted. He pressed his hand hard against his head, trying to make it stop.

Control breathing, focus on one thing.

Sherlock clutched his head, leaning on the wall heavily. He twisted in pain, setting his jaw tight. Slowly, the pain in his head began to clear, until it was back to the dull thudding of the iron rod. His breathing became more steady and he blinked back tears. How many minutes have passed? Moriarty's men obviously don't know Alex's here.

Finally, he realized a hand was on his shoulder. Alex's hand.

"Sherlock, you okay? What's going on?" Alex's voice came from a far away distant. "Sherlock, can you hear me? What's going on?" Clearer. Much more louder.

Sherlock gave a weak nod and bit his lips. "Yes, it's just…I don't know, my head hurts." He realized how stupid he sounded.

"Can you run?"

Sherlock blinked a few times. "Yes,"

Alex still seemed unsure but he shrugged. "Okay then. We have to run down the hallway but there might be some guards. There's a vent to the right that should lead to the sewer. We'll go from there and try to escape from this island. I have an emergency transmitter that can call MI6. They should arrive in 10 minutes."

Sherlock steadied himself then took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go."


	6. Chapter 6: When I say run, Run

They jogged down the hallway, their feet making a slap slap sound against the wet and damp floor. Soon, a flight of stairs appeared up front leading to the second basement. White light poured down the stairs and the environment immediately changed to ivory washed walls and marble floors. It was a long straight hallway, leading down to an intersection of 2 other hallways.

Sherlock glanced at the security cameras but they weren't moving. Hacked. Would take them…10 minutes till they figure out the picture has been frozen. That gives them around 5 minutes left.

They reached the end of the hallway and Alex motioned to their right. A set of metal doors appeared, and Alex slid in a thin card. The box at the side beeped and the doors opened, revealing a large room. They continued from jogging to walking, looking from all sides. Metal stainless steel tables were at one side while the other contained sinks and cabinets. Cafeteria?Likely.

Their footsteps were silent on the polished floor.

And then, came voices. Laughing, joking, loud raucous noises from down the other side of the room.

They ducked behind a wall.

Guards.

Sherlock glanced at Alex, scanning his face if he had any plan. Alex's face showed nothing, but it was obvious this wasn't planned. The guards were getting closer to their section and Sherlock tensed.

Alex pointed down the room mouthed, _"_ _On the count of three._ _"_

Sherlock only nodded meekly, trying to control his breathing. His head still pulsated with dull pain but his vision was much clearer. Hopefully they'll make it to the door in…less than 3 seconds. It would take the guards 2 seconds to register, 1 second to get ready their guns, 3 seconds to aim and shoot. That gives them…around 5 seconds to run out of the room, 2 seconds to scan the card.

He shut his eyes, calculating the chances. There was a light tap and he turned to see Alex holding up 3 fingers. The guards were getting near.

3…

The talking grew louder…

2…

Get ready to run…

1!

Sherlock dashed from the wall to the door. There was shouting. Sounds of mechanics filled the air, fingers fumbling triggers and clicks of bullets being loaded in rifles.

The door opened.

Then, came the rain of bullets.


	7. Chapter 7: The Rain of Bullets

He ran. He ran for his life, card held in front of him like a dagger. With a swish, the doors opened and he dashed out. Then came the rain of bullets.

The bullets fell in a platter, burying into the metal walls beside him. Alex ducked his head, running for his life. He rarely noticed his surrounds as he ran down the hall, feet thudding on the ground. A burning stab of pain ran up his arm and warm liquid ran down his cheek. He pushed Sherlock to the right then got out his trip wire.

Aiming at the wall across him, he pulled the trigger, shooting a thin line of silver wire. The end attached itself to the wall and Alex attached the other end he was holding on.

He took off again, not waiting to see what happened to the guards. A few seconds later, he heard multiple swear words and sounds of muffed scuffling. That should grant him some time.

Alex pointed to the vent above and Sherlock pushed open the wire net, lifting himself up. Alex could hear the heavy footsteps growing louder and louder, sounds of shouting and curse words.

Sherlock offered a hand and Alex was pulled up. By the time the guards arrived below them, the vent was already shut, with no signs of any movement.

—

The first thing he noticed was the heavy breathing coming from his right. Alex glanced at Sherlock, brown eyes sweeping over Sherlock's crouched figure. His hand was clutching his leg, and as Alex squinted, he saw dark liquid seeping past the cracks and through his fingers. Sherlock was shot.

A wince escaped from Sherlock's lips as he gritted his teeth, face contorted in agony.

"Sherlock, you okay?"

"No, I'm fine, Alex, I'm fine-" He was cut off shortly by a gasp of pain, jaw clenched. "It's just a bullet wound. Bullet bounced off the wall,"

"Is it-"

"Two holes."

Alex winced at the amount of blood pouring from Sherlock's leg, the red liquid slowly dripping down like a stream. A stream of red blood.

"You're hurt," Sherlock tried changing the subject, indicating to Alex's bleeding shoulder and face. Alex touched his face lightly, feeling some warm wet substance. His fingers traveled lightly up until he felt the discomfort began to increase. His fingertips lightly grazed the gash.

The pain spread like hot fire, across his entire face and down his shoulder, sending shocks through his nerves. His face still throbbed as he squeezed his eyes shut, hands made into fists.

He waited till the pain ebbed away like receding water until what was left was just the sore dull pain pulsating through his veins.

Both of them where hurt, not a good sign. Especially when one of them was injured in the leg. Now there really is no hope of them running.

"Look…Sherlock…do you want to rest here or…"

"What good is it to rest when you don't accomplish anything?" Sherlock asked, light eyes shinning in the darkness. "Just try the stopping the blood, we'll move on after that"

Pause.

"Can you take out the bandages?" Sherlock said, nodding to one of his pockets.

"How did you-" he began but quickly stopped himself. He is Sherlock Holmes after all, and having him give a whole lecture about his life is pretty much all he need to know about Sherlock's intelligence.

So he gently pried off Sherlock's hand, the red blood sticky all over his fingers, and slowly rolled up the pants.

—

Sherlock leaned heavily on the metal wall, the cool surface pressing against his hot skin. The blood, his blood, pooled around his leg, barely aware of his hands, his red hands stained with blood, his blood.

He felt Alex rolling up his pants, earning him another gasp of pain. He snapped his eyes shut, wishing this could all end, that he never even went on this stupid mission. Why him? First time, first mission and boom, here you go, wounded leg.

Sherlock cautiously looked down and saw a black hole, a deep dark black hole planted in his skin, blood still gushing out. Alex's fingers shook, he noticed, they were shaking. Does it really look that bad? After all, he had had multiple injuries in his life. But this time, this was special. Bullet wound… For some strange reason, he couldn't put a finger to it.

He was locked. Locked out of his mind palace. Where is the key? Somebody, anybody? He looked around, nobody was around. Empty. Oh Mycroft, Mother, Father, where are you?

No answer. Of course, nobody cared about him. Who care's about Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective? Nobody. Because there's one factor, one factor, that defies it all. FREAK.

Sherlock you freak.

Sherlock glanced back at Alex again, watching his silent movements.

The young boy looked like he doesn't know where to start, as if he never seen anything like this. Either clean the wound, or just start bandaging? Judging by the amount of blood, Alex probably chose cleaning first.

Alex took out a small plastic bag from one of his pockets and emptied out the contents inside. A roll of bandage, antibiotics, cotton swabs, bottle of alcohol… Alex took out a cotton swab and soaked it in alcohol, then slowly started cleaning around the wound.

Sherlock watched patiently as the excess blood were wiped away until a small hole, about only a finger nail large, was left. Then Alex started wrapping, around and around, around and around.

"It should be okay…" the older man looked up at him, face showing concern, "What happened?"

"I fell off," he murmured and the man raised an eyebrow, skeptic with his answer. "Where?" He asked.

"Onto the ground, there was a piece of metal," he shrugged like it was no such big deal. "I was pushed," he added a while later.

The man just stood there, staring at Sherlock and his thin feature, cheekbones jutting out and dark hair falling over his blue-green eyes. "Who?" He asked a while later.

"None of your business,"

"Why would anybody push you?"

"Why wouldn't?"

The old man remained silent then said, "But who?"

Sherlock glared at him, this time clearly annoyed with the man's answer. "I said, this was none of your business."

That ended their conversation. Of course, that's also the reason why Sherlock never liked hospitals.

Alex finally finished bandaging his leg until what remained of the hole was just a big bundle of cloth. Sherlock tried it a few times

"Can you…move?" Alex asked.

He tested his leg a few times, shifting it lightly around. It sent shocks of pain up his leg like burning ice, almost making him cry out loud. But he didn't. He just kept silent, and stared straight forward so Alex wouldn't see how hard he was trying, trying to keep silent, and stop feeling the pain.

When the pain finally ebbed away, he heard a sound. But by the time they reach their destination, it will already be too late. Because something, in the vent, smelled fresh blood and something, is coming down the vent, right, now.

 **Hey guys, Izzy here. Sorry this chapter is extra long. The rest will remain this size since the other chapters were really short. :) Please please review guys, the more you review the faster I'll update. :))))))**


	8. Chapter 8: The Glowing Eyes

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stared warily down the vent.

"Something's coming, we have to go," he whispered.

"Wait what, right now?" Alex asked incredulous. They haven't even take a moment to rest yet.

"Yes," Sherlock turned and started crawling down the vent. Alex followed.

"Wait, why?"

"Something's coming down the vent,"

"Sorry?"

"Can't you feel it?" Sherlock stopped and stared at him.

Alex silenced for a while and placed his hands on the cold metal floor. Vibrations.

"Uh…what exa-"

"Let's go," Sherlock interrupted him. He continued to crawl down the vent. Questions spun in his head and he tempted to say something else but stopped himself. Probably even Sherlock didn't know himself. Plus, he can barely feel the vibrations and it must be from the air conditioner or the people above. Either way, Alex had no choice but to follow him.

After they crawled down the dark narrow vent for about 15 minutes, Alex felt the vibrations under his fingertips started to grow larger. Slowly, he began to hear little scratches too, coming down the vent, like claws tapping against glass.

"Uhh, Sherlock-" He began.

"I know," was his only reply as he interrupted him once more. Alex fumed with anger but he bit his lips to prevent another retort. Sherlock is more older and much more intelligent than him but Alex clearly has more experience than Sherlock.

Alex twisted his head to look back, expecting to see something but instead, was meet with emptiness. He shook his head in confusion and continued to inch forward, back bent painfully as he crawled on.

The thin metal wall beside him gave a shudder and Alex stopped. He stared at the wall for a second. Nope, he definitely wasn't imaging, that wall just trembled as if something else…was behind it.

"Um…" he started hesitantly.

"We have to get out of this place right now." Sherlock barked up front, annoyed with Alex's questions.

"Sorry but can you at least tell me what's going on?" Alex snapped back, this time truly being pushed to his limits. There's no way he's going to move forward unless Sherlock tells him what is going on. Plus the fact that where are they going.

Sherlock growled in frustration and Alex saw him balling up his fists. "I told you, something's coming down the vent and we have to get out. There's wind coming from the front so there's clearly an opening, probably to the sewer."

Alex was about to ask, What thing, when he stopped himself again. Fine, if Sherlock's refusing to tell him, he's going to find out himself.

The chittering and tapping of claws started to grow louder and louder in a brief amount of time, the sound felt like thundering rain, pouring down on metal cans. Alex slowed down his crawl, muddled by this strange…sound. It does not sound like air conditioning nor does it sound even close to people walking from above. Alex turned his head and to his shock, he saw something, that he couldn't quite get that time, and it would have been funny apart from the fact that these…things, were right behind him.

Alex found himself face to face with hundreds of glowing eyes. And they were all coming for him.

First thing that came to his mind was wolves. Until he realized wolves can't fit into this tiny vent so it must be something smaller. Something much more smaller and much more faster,

"Sh-Sherlock?" he asked as the glowing eyes grew nearer. They were still quite far away but there is no doubt that these tiny glowing dots are the eyes of a hungry animal. His whole brain started to feel numb and for some reason, he couldn't…move. He just stared at the pairs of glowing eyes, flashing in the darkness, completely defenseless as the creatures advanced towards him.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, snapping him out of his agonizing trance, forcing his hands and feet to move.

"Don't look at them," Sherlock breathed, "Their eyes can paralyze the human body instantly then consume them by packs. According to sounds I'm guessing there's around fifty of them,"

"W-what are they?" Alex stammered, hating his weakness being shown as he struggled down the vent.

"Mutated rats," Sherlock answered without indifference.

"Mutated rats?" Alex repeated,

"Yes, didn't you hear what I just say?" Sherlock replied with a tinge of annoyance.

The sound of sharp claws increased but as they crawled, a low ray of light was seen up front.

"Almost there," Sherlock grimaced, his leg dragging uselessly along. "Alex?" There was no reply.

"Alex!" he called again.

"Here!" Alex yelled, kicking his legs behind him. Some have already reached them and were nipping at his heels, scrabbling up his legs as they sunk in their long claws. Alex let out a gasp of pain and managed to grab one of the rat and toss it back. He quickly kicked down at the floor and continued to slide forward, hoping his feet can hit as many of the mutated creatures as he can. Another rat leapt onto him, this time hooking itself on his back. Alex tried shaking it off but it hung on, digging it's claws into him to get a grip.

"Dammit!" He cursed, reaching for the rat again. He grabbed the oily roll of skin and threw it back, continuing his struggle to get out of this place.

He heard a creak up front and the sound of metal clattering on a stone floor. A pale hand reached towards him and in seconds, he was pulled out with the rusted iron webbing slammed back to its place as soon as his feet left the sticky metal surface.

Alex stumbled and fell onto the ground, chest falling rapidly up and down and he laid there, breathing hard.

His arms dropped uselessly down to his side, sprawled out on the cool wet stone.

Finally, he managed to raise his head, his blonde hair now stuck on the sides of his wet face. He realized he had been crying.

The vision started to clear and he saw Sherlock leaning heavily against the wall, his legs splayed out before him. His eyes seemed distant as he stared off into space, not particularly at anything at all.

"Sherlock?" Alex said as he sat up, "You okay?"

Sherlock snapped his head back and stared at Alex and for a fleeting moment, his eyes seemed…lost. But the expression quickly fell from his face as he returned to his hard calculating eyes.

"Yes," he replied, moving up to a standing position. The iron webbing shook with the rats banging on it but the gate was clipped tightly to the stone sides.

"We should probably follow the river. That should lead us somewhere close to an opening of some kind," he pointed at the dark churning waters beside them. "Ready?" he asked, looking at Alex straight into the eye.

Alex took a deep breath then nodded silently. "Ready," he replied.

 **Hey guys, Izzy here. Please please review, I love reviews! And thanks for those who favorited or followed, yaaaay, this story is coming out better than I thought. The next chapter will be written in Sherlock's POV, hope you enjoy!**


	9. Chapter 9: Don't Leave Me Here

They walked for around 20 minutes till they couldn't hear the scratching of the mutated rats. The rushing water had also reduced from waves to small ripples, slithering down the tunnel with them. Finally, Sherlock called out for a break and they both leaned back on the wall, legs splayed out before them.

Sherlock glanced at Alex's shoulder and his back, which was now torn with cuts and scratches. He let out a sigh and held out his hand. "Give me the bandages," he said.

Alex looked at him warily. Sherlock gave another sigh. "Just give me the bandages," he said. Alex reached for his pocket, but his mouth opened for a question.

"Your shoulder," he indicated his head to the bleeding wound, "it's going to get infected if you don't bandage it,"

The retort seemed to melt from Alex's lips as he handed him a roll of white bandages, giving off a slight glow in the darkness as Sherlock slowly unwrapped it. He had bandaged a lot cuts and injuries before but this seemed different. He could sense that Alex was tense, as if he was scared that Sherlock was going to slash out at him or something.

"I'm not going to kill you so relax your muscles before I really have to sedate you to bandage this cut," he said curtly.

"I'm not nervous," Alex snapped, moving his arm away.

"You are," Sherlock concluded, "your muscles are contracted and you are constantly bitting your lips. When I first asked you about the bandages you looked confused as if you do not know what I was referring to. Of course you're nervous, you're scared of me, aren't you?"

Alex turned to face him, face red like he was ready to spout some kind of reason to defend himself.

Sherlock sighed, "Just let me bandage your arm. I can't do it if you're all tensed up."

Alex reluctantly gave his arm to him. Sherlock started to clean the wound, expecting some sign of pain but Alex's face remained impassive. Quite brave, he thought to himself, he must have had wounds worse than this.

The tunnel was silent for a while as he wrapped the cloth around and around Alex's arm until all was left was a wad of white bandage, almost like an arm band.

"I still don't get why you get to boss me around when you're only four years older than me," Alex murmured, arms crossed.

Sherlock felt a smirk play at his lips. "That's because I am more intelligent than you," he replied stiffly, "Also because I am still older than you, and it the world, the younger must listen to the older."

"Is it because you're wiser," Alex said sarcastically, "because you don't look very wise to me."

Sherlock looked away and Alex followed his gaze. Seeing that Sherlock was staring at nothing, he then glanced back at Sherlock.

"Hey, you're smiling!" He said.

"No I'm not," Sherlock replied but the smile still reached his lips. He let out a laugh he hadn't had for weeks, "Ok, fine, I'm smiling. But I'm still older than you,"

"Doesn't make you any wiser,"

"Quite right, you know, some people don't really act wise at all even if they reach 60. Made too many mistakes in hiding the body," he said.

"Hiding the body?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, middle aged woman, his ex-wife, murdered her on the day she went home, had a grudge on her ever since the day they divorced." He waved him off.

Alex sat there, considering this.

Sherlock continued to stare into space. He listened to the drip drip of water somewhere nearby and the flowing water below. Here they are, stuck in some sewer tunnel, with no lead of finding the cure, and both of them injured. The pain in his leg was starting to get to him now, sending shocks discomfort every time he puts pressure on it. The idea of Jim starting all this does not help lighten the problem they have now.

"We should probabl-" he began but was abruptly cut off by an agonizing stab through his brain when he tried to stand. Black spots appeared in front of him, blinking out the lights as he felt the darkness close in around the edges of his vision. He let out a cry of pain and clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut as fresh tears sprang up.

The shots of pain felt like lightning, running through his mind, paralyzing his whole body as he leaned on the wall heavily. Suddenly, he saw a dark shadow, an outline of his older brother, in front of him, just standing there, unmoving.

"Mycroft?" he asked cautiously. Mycroft, just stood in front of him.

"Mycroft?" he asked again, this time suspicious. His older brother just stood there, his face darkened so Sherlock couldn't see his expression. Then, he started shaking his head. He was disappointed in him. Stupid little brother. Slowly, he turned away to face the other way.

"No, Mycroft, please don't go!" He cried but Mycroft paid no heed and started walking away.

"Mycroft, please, don't leave me here, I tried, I tried my best, please Mycroft, please," he pleaded.

Mycroft kept on walking. Sherlock bit his lip till he tasted blood and balled his fists until his nails cut into his skin, drawing bleeds of red liquid. "I tried," he murmured silently, "I tried, I tried my best, please…. just don't leave me here…"

Yet despite all his pleading, there was no answer, as the figure of Mycroft, slowly melt into nothing.

 **Hey guys, Izzy here. For your information, Sherlock is hallucinating towards the end of the chapter. And thanks for all the favorites and follows, next chapter will be in Alex's POV. I might add some of Sherlock's POV too.**


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